The Blue Beauty
The first evening in the Golden Circle came down to a straight fight between two waterfalls, both of which lay twenty odd miles from our base camp at Flúðir. To the north east lay the dramatic Gullfoss and its ninety degree bend down a narrow canyon. A textbook Icelandic monster with a powerful deep plunge that would surely take the breath away. Meanwhile, to the north west sat Brúarfoss, a subtle blue meltwater beauty quite unlike any other we’d see on this trip. And while Gullfoss would bring the challenge of trying to compose shots surrounded by large numbers of other visitors, we felt sure that it would be quieter at its rather more modest contender. And as long as we didn’t feel overwhelmed by the prospect of a two mile walk in either direction along the riverbank to get there, quieter seemed to be winning out. And of course, Brúarfoss would offer something rather different. Sadly we wouldn’t make it to Gullfoss this time around, but while there are still plenty of places to visit, there are lots of reasons to keep making plans.
Access to the waterfall had been improved relatively recently by the development of a brand new car park with space for around twenty vehicles to pull up right beside the River Brúará, from where it was a case of pulling on the welly boots and beginning the muddy yomp towards the main attraction. It was a walk that would take us past two support acts in the form of the unpronounceable Hlauptungufoss, and the appropriately named Miðfoss, both of which deserved attention in their own right - or at least they would have done if we’d got here earlier. In reminding myself of their names all these months later, I’ve come across a particularly fine shot of Miðfoss by one Pall Jokull Petursson on the page of the online satellite map. Pall is described as a local guide, level five, with eight hundred and forty points, whatever that means. Answers on a postcard please, but no points awarded for working out where he’s from with a name like that. He probably goes there during his lunch hour. Sadly, Pall isn’t a member of our community, but he’s already inspired me to return earlier in the day and have a proper look for myself.
The path was as mucky as you might expect it to be in Iceland in September. Too warm to freeze and turn into treachery, and too damp to make it anything other than a semi swamp, the welly boots proved to be essential on the two mile trail. Sometimes we would be wading through forty or fifty yards of glue like mud, eight inches deep, without any respite at all. But in wellies it was enormous fun, especially when meeting day trippers heading back towards their cars who’d failed to change out of their no longer pristine white trainers. And on this quiet trail through the autumn oranges and yellows of low brown scrub and willowy silver saplings, it was a very pleasant squelching stroll indeed. A space in which to chatter away about nothing in particular as the anticipation continued to build. Somewhere around the halfway point the path branched left towards the riverbank at Hlauptungufoss, from where we hugged the edge of the water all the way to our prize. And what a prize it was. As the bridge came into view, the last party was making their exit. We had the beautiful baby blue waterfall to ourselves.
Compositionally, being limited to the bridge, including on the alcove underneath the western side of it, was challenging. Ideally I’d have liked to have been able to get down closer to the water, and there is supposedly a scramble down to it, but I couldn’t find it. Perhaps it’s become overgrown or been blocked off deliberately to deter over-confident adventurers as it could be all too easy to disappear into that washing machine spin of a blue swirl in an unwary moment. So the bridge it was, which left us with zooming into the falls and zooming out to the bigger picture. Just to add to the challenges, all traces of texture left the sky. And if you’ve read the previous story from here, you’ll know that I was completely unaware of the fact that I’d spent the entire session in jpeg only mode. I won’t relive the sorry tale all over again. Suffice to say I’d love to return with a bit more time to spare, maybe in mid summer when the midnight sun should be hovering in just about the right place.
On the long walk back, we broke out the head torches, posing for phone snaps at Hlauptungufoss before trekking through the mud baths in near darkness. It had been a fun evening, despite the fact that I felt I might have done better. I’d have certainly done better if I’d been shooting in RAW mode. Oops, I wasn’t supposed to moan about that again was I?
The Blue Beauty
The first evening in the Golden Circle came down to a straight fight between two waterfalls, both of which lay twenty odd miles from our base camp at Flúðir. To the north east lay the dramatic Gullfoss and its ninety degree bend down a narrow canyon. A textbook Icelandic monster with a powerful deep plunge that would surely take the breath away. Meanwhile, to the north west sat Brúarfoss, a subtle blue meltwater beauty quite unlike any other we’d see on this trip. And while Gullfoss would bring the challenge of trying to compose shots surrounded by large numbers of other visitors, we felt sure that it would be quieter at its rather more modest contender. And as long as we didn’t feel overwhelmed by the prospect of a two mile walk in either direction along the riverbank to get there, quieter seemed to be winning out. And of course, Brúarfoss would offer something rather different. Sadly we wouldn’t make it to Gullfoss this time around, but while there are still plenty of places to visit, there are lots of reasons to keep making plans.
Access to the waterfall had been improved relatively recently by the development of a brand new car park with space for around twenty vehicles to pull up right beside the River Brúará, from where it was a case of pulling on the welly boots and beginning the muddy yomp towards the main attraction. It was a walk that would take us past two support acts in the form of the unpronounceable Hlauptungufoss, and the appropriately named Miðfoss, both of which deserved attention in their own right - or at least they would have done if we’d got here earlier. In reminding myself of their names all these months later, I’ve come across a particularly fine shot of Miðfoss by one Pall Jokull Petursson on the page of the online satellite map. Pall is described as a local guide, level five, with eight hundred and forty points, whatever that means. Answers on a postcard please, but no points awarded for working out where he’s from with a name like that. He probably goes there during his lunch hour. Sadly, Pall isn’t a member of our community, but he’s already inspired me to return earlier in the day and have a proper look for myself.
The path was as mucky as you might expect it to be in Iceland in September. Too warm to freeze and turn into treachery, and too damp to make it anything other than a semi swamp, the welly boots proved to be essential on the two mile trail. Sometimes we would be wading through forty or fifty yards of glue like mud, eight inches deep, without any respite at all. But in wellies it was enormous fun, especially when meeting day trippers heading back towards their cars who’d failed to change out of their no longer pristine white trainers. And on this quiet trail through the autumn oranges and yellows of low brown scrub and willowy silver saplings, it was a very pleasant squelching stroll indeed. A space in which to chatter away about nothing in particular as the anticipation continued to build. Somewhere around the halfway point the path branched left towards the riverbank at Hlauptungufoss, from where we hugged the edge of the water all the way to our prize. And what a prize it was. As the bridge came into view, the last party was making their exit. We had the beautiful baby blue waterfall to ourselves.
Compositionally, being limited to the bridge, including on the alcove underneath the western side of it, was challenging. Ideally I’d have liked to have been able to get down closer to the water, and there is supposedly a scramble down to it, but I couldn’t find it. Perhaps it’s become overgrown or been blocked off deliberately to deter over-confident adventurers as it could be all too easy to disappear into that washing machine spin of a blue swirl in an unwary moment. So the bridge it was, which left us with zooming into the falls and zooming out to the bigger picture. Just to add to the challenges, all traces of texture left the sky. And if you’ve read the previous story from here, you’ll know that I was completely unaware of the fact that I’d spent the entire session in jpeg only mode. I won’t relive the sorry tale all over again. Suffice to say I’d love to return with a bit more time to spare, maybe in mid summer when the midnight sun should be hovering in just about the right place.
On the long walk back, we broke out the head torches, posing for phone snaps at Hlauptungufoss before trekking through the mud baths in near darkness. It had been a fun evening, despite the fact that I felt I might have done better. I’d have certainly done better if I’d been shooting in RAW mode. Oops, I wasn’t supposed to moan about that again was I?